


blue skies, broken hearts...next 12 exits

by butterflyweb



Category: Dong Bang Shin Ki, Super Junior
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-19
Updated: 2012-10-19
Packaged: 2017-11-16 14:25:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/540411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflyweb/pseuds/butterflyweb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Changmin maybe sort of has a thing for Yunho. Not that he's telling. Rock Band AU written for help_japan 2011.</p>
            </blockquote>





	blue skies, broken hearts...next 12 exits

Bent over the counter, eyes bloodshot and staring into his coffee cup blankly, Changmin knows he looks like hell. He hasn’t showered, and the gel he’d had in his hair yesterday has insured that his bedhead is staying put. Ignoring the looks he’s getting from the other patrons, he lays his head down on the counter and almost groans aloud in relief. The cool Formica is a balm to his hangover, and he thinks dazedly he could just fall asleep here. That sounds fantastic, actually, just sleep right here…  
  
Keys drop with a clatter next to his head and Changmin sits up with a jolt, blinking blearily at the new arrival. Then groans for real.  
  
“Hyung, for fuck’s sake…”  
  
Running a hand back through cropped, scarlet hair, Heechul smirks, sliding onto the stool beside him and raising a hand for the waitress. “Three coffees to go?”  
  
The twenty-six year old turns to him, picking his keys up again and spinning them on his first finger.  
  
“We have to be in Busan by six, no time to waste, Changdol.”  
  
“Don’t call me that,” Changmin retorts automatically, robotically, making an effort to sit up a little straighter. “You said we had an hour. It’s been thirty six minutes.” He looks pointedly to the clock.  
  
Heechul shrugs, taking the coffees and fitting two into the carrier the waitress gives him, passing over two wrinkled bills and telling her with a smile he saves for women to keep the change. Changmin scoffs under his breath and then withers under a glare from the ajumma.  
  
“Then I lied. Come on. Kyunhyunnie offered to drive and if you pout real pretty at Yunho, you know he’ll let you have the seat with the window.”  
  
Changmin saves himself from reply with a hasty sip to his lukewarm coffee, hoping that his ears aren’t turning red. Yeah, he knows. Yunho has a soft spot for him, Heechul claims, often and loudly and in his ear when he’s drunk. The drummer is just the type, friendly to a fault and much too nice—he had to be. Being best friends with Heechul took a certain amount of emotional fortitude and other zen-like qualities.  
  
The smirk on the redhead’s face turns smarmy, Heechul ripping open a sugar packet and dumping it inside his own cup, fixing the lid back on.  
  
“Come on,” he repeats, and this time Changmin gives up, sliding off the stool and picking up the rest of the pastry he’d ordered, wrapping it in a napkin for the road. Who knew how long they’d drive before they stopped. Heechul gathers the coffees, stuffing sugar and creamer packets into his pockets and following him out to where their beat up van is parked at the edge of the lot.  
  
Changmin hates the stupid tight feeling he gets in his chest whenever he first lays eyes on Yunho in the morning.  
  
Their drummer is leaning against the back doors of the van, smoking what’s probably his second cigarette of the morning. He won’t have another till right before the gig, then his last after. That’s the one Changmin will have with him sometimes, even though smoking turns his stomach more than anything. Yunho’s sporting dark circles and rumpled hair, but his smile is as bright and white as ever when he spots them coming.  
  
He ducks his head to hide the wide grin that wants to break out over his own features, ignoring the way Heechul snickers at his side. Bastard. He hopes the girls he hits on tonight punch him in the groin.  
“Yah, Yunja, you’ll give Changmin the window seat, right?” Heechul asks innocently as he gives Yunho his coffee before slipping away to deliver Kyuhyun’s, the singer half-dozing in the driver’s seat.  
He only has the luxury of the distraction for a moment, and then Yunho is right beside him, concern written over his features. He has five o’clock shadow, Changmin notes, the corners of his mouth tugging at a smile. It’s preferable to the awkward stop-start of his pulse.  
  
“Are you feeling okay?” A sympathetic tilt of the other man’s head. “Hangover? You were hitting the soju bombs a little hard last night…”  
  
Changmin widens his eyes in protest. “Yah, so were you! And they were free…”  
  
Yunho laughs at that, tapping ash to the pavement. “Yeah, believe me, I saw. Those girls were all over you--I thought we might have to leave without a bassist.”  
  
Shuddering reflexively, Changmin covers it with a weak smile. “Regretting taking up the drums, now? Everyone knows bass is the sexiest.”  
  
Another laugh, Yunho slinging an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in tight for a moment before letting go. “Get in the van, Casanova. You can have the window, I don’t mind.”  
  
Warm, Changmin nods and goes as told, pulling open the side door and climbing inside, shooting back a glare to Heechul’s leer.  
  
“Can we go already?”  
  
*  
  
This thing he has for Yunho…  
  
It isn’t so much a ‘thing’ as it is…an affection. Respect, really. He admires the other man, both because of his talent and his attitude, and of course, they’re friends. Good friends—they spend a good twenty four hours together in confined spaces most of the time, so of course they’re close. And so maybe it isn’t the same kind of friendship he has with Kyuhyun, maybe there’s a huge number of things he doesn’t know about Yunho, maybe he feels more awkward around him than he ever has with Kyuhyunnie, but…all friendships are different.  
  
And so okay, Yunho is handsome. That’s not having a thing, that’s…that’s having eyes. The older man has that sharp jaw and small face and movie star smile that stop most people in their tracks. Changmin would be an idiot if he didn’t admit that, and if there’s one thing Changmin isn’t, it’s an idiot.  
  
So that’s it, really. Friendship, respect, admiration. So what if he gets nervous when he sees him or stains his fingers with cigarettes he doesn’t like to smoke so they can have some one on one time. If he crams his long legs in the back seats because Yunho too easily gives up shotgun, and edges Kyuhyun and Heechul out of the way when Yunho’s driving so he can read the map and listen to Yunho sing along to the radio. So what.  
  
It isn’t a _thing._  
  
*  
  
He falls asleep against the window, leather jacket draped over himself and warm despite the open driver’s side window. Wakes again when they hit a pothole, head thwacking against the glass and startling him into alertness. Kyuhyun winces in sympathy from where he’s sitting beside him, going over their set list for the hundredth time, and Changmin blinks to realize they’d stopped and switched drivers somewhere along the way.  
  
“Where are we?” he mumbles, yawning and scrubbing at his face.  
  
“’bout an hour outside Busan,” comes the reply from the younger man, Kyuhyun scratching at his jaw and nodding between the front two seats. “We picked up dinner—hyung said not to wake you, so we just got you a hamburger.”  
  
He knows perfectly well which hyung Kyuhyun means.  
  
The jacket sliding down, Changmin reaches for the bag, ignoring the fact that it’s cold and smiling slightly when he sees the ‘no pickles’ tag stuck to the outside of the sandwich. Unwrapping it, he takes a big bite, frowning when he sees Kyuhyun staring at him.  
  
“Mmwaht?” he asks, mouthful.  
  
His best friend smirks, shaking his head and going back to worrying the bracer around his wrist.  
  
“Nothing. Just thinking.” A thoughtful tilt of the head. “Heechul hyung wasn’t kidding.”  
  
He stares at him in confusion for a minute before it clicks, and then he’s darting a gaze up front to where Yunho is fiddling with the radio, oblivious, and Heechul is asleep, only kept upright by the force of his seatbelt.  
  
“Heechul hyung doesn’t know shit,” Changmin retorts under his breath, chucking a fry at his head. “And neither do you. God.”  
  
Kyunhyun detangles the French fry from his hair and launches it back Changmin’s way, grinning when it nails him right in the forehead.  
  
“Whatever you say, hyung. “  
  
*  
  
Depending on how many albums they sell, and whether or not they can get Kyuhyun to call his girlfriend back in Seoul and get her to wire him money, they can usually manage to scrape together enough cash to stay in a motel once a week. The rest of the time, nights are divided between saunas, the living room floor of Heechul’s one-night stands, and the van.  
  
They’ve been stuck in the van for eight straight nights. Changmin thinks if his back were any more screwed up at this point, he’d be the crooked man who lived down the crooked lane. And so while any other time he’d be offering sympathetic glances Kyuhyun’s way while Heechul nagged at him, this time he’s more than signed up to bully their youngest.  
  
“I’m not calling her again,” Kyuhyun is protesting hotly, glaring at them where they sit across from him, squeezed three abreast into one side of the booth. He clutches his coffee mug in poor defense. “I’m not.”  
  
Heechul’s eyes narrow and even Yunho looks like he’s going to upend the coffee in Kyuhyun’s lap if he doesn’t give-in.  
  
“Guys, she’s already sent me a hundred bucks already, if I keep asking, I’m going to be the deadbeat loser boyfriend. _Not_ what I was going for when I joined a band, okay?” Kyuhyun’s shoulders are hunched and his features sullen, and Changmin almost takes pity on him until he shifts in his seat and his back pops loud enough for everyone at the table to hear.  
  
He plunks five hundred won down in front of his best friend, nodding to the payphone in the corner of the small restaurant.  
  
“Do it, or you’ll be a _dead_ loser boyfriend. Got it?”  
  
There’s a silence, Kyuhyun muttering something that sounds suspiciously like ‘fucking assholes’, and then he’s pushing his coffee cup to the side, and sliding out of the booth, stalking towards the back of the restaurant. Heechul cackles gleefully, sliding out of the booth himself and following.  
  
“He doesn’t trust him not to lie and say she said no,” Yunho notes with a soft snort, the proximity of his voice reminding Changmin how close he’s sitting to him, their thighs and shoulders pressed up against one another in an attempt to accommodate the three of them. He scoots away to give  
  
Yunho room, ears hot with embarassment.  
  
The drummer doesn’t seem to notice, tapping his fingers on the table as he reaches to steal a fry from Heechul’s abandoned plate.  
  
Changmin makes a face, coughing to hide the way he’s still flushing, looking after their bandmates. “Either way, I’m not sharing with him. He’s going to be sending me wounded looks all night and bitching that I didn’t take his side.” Changmin scoffs. “I’m the tallest person one here, I think my vote towards sleeping arrangements should count the most.”  
  
Yunho rolls his eyes at him with a grin. “By two whole centimeters. Whatever.” He snatches another fry. “You wanna share with me then? You know Kyu won’t complain to Heechul, he’d end up losing his tongue.”  
  
Laughing to try to hide just how hard that offer made it to swallow, Changmin forces a casual shrug. Annoyed at himself for how he’s acting, for how he’s _been_ acting lately. Namely like a fourteen year old girl with a celebrity crush. It’s embarassing.  
  
“Yeah, sure.” Changmin puts a smile on, fingers working on the leather cuff around his wrist, the nervous gesture under the table and out of sight.  
  
“Sounds good.”  
  
*  
  
 _Yeah, sure_ he mocks himself silently, hours later, when they’re checked into their tiny closet of a room to find one painfully narrow double bed sitting there innocently. _No problem, hyung, none at all. It’s a fucking fantastic idea, really._  
  
Dropping his bag on the floor, he watches as Yunho crouches in the desk chair, flipping through the channels on the ancient television and biting at a thumbnail. He stops when he hits the news, obviously absorbed, and thankfully, seemingly oblivious to Changmin’s internal crisis five feet away.  
  
“I’m just going to...” he trails off, wondering why he feels he needs to announce that he’s going to brush his teeth, wincing and squatting to dig through his bag for his toothbrush and his contact case, then going to lock the bathroom door behind him.  
  
He just...it shouldn’t be weird. There’s no reason for it to be weird, Yunho is his friend first, before anything else, and he wouldn’t have hesitated if it had been Kyuhyunnie, or even Heechul hyung. Acting stupid like this is what turns a little thing into a big thing, and that isn’t what he wants. It isn’t.  
  
Splashing his face with cold water, Changmin takes a leak, then brushes his teeth and removes his contacts, slipping his glasses on before going back out to the room. He bites down hard on his tongue for the way his breath catches when he sees Yunho sitting in his boxers and a white tee on the bed. His headphones cover his ears as he flicks through his mp3 player, humming to something Changmin can’t hear.  
  
Forcing himself to cross the distance of the room, Changmin sits down on the edge, hesitating before reaching over and jostling Yunho’s shoulder.  
  
Ready to ask him if he wants Changmin to take the floor, since there isn’t a lot of space, and he is the hyung after all.  
  
The words don’t make it out, Yunho flashing a smile at him, and taking out one of his headphones to hand to Changmin.  
  
“Here, listen to this, tell me what you think. It’s just three guys, but the lead singer is fantastic, listen--”  
  
Changmin puts the bud in his ear, the familiar sounds of a guitar, bass and drums pound through the speakers, and Yunho’s right, the guy is good.  
Really good, and not for the first time, Changmin finds himself wondering if they’re ever going to get there. If this is really just some thing they’re doing when they should be in college, if it’s just something they’ll look back on in their forties as a bit of fun had with friends before life got serious.  
  
Before they had fully put away childish things.  
  
“Good, right?” Yunho beams at him, the expression warm and bright, despite his greasy bangs and the dark shadow of his facial hair. “It’d be great if we could open for them, sometime, we should send one of the CDs in to their label, right? It’d get us great exposure, I mean, I think we’re more than ready for that. Don’t you?”  
  
The words, the eagerness in the other man’s voice...it whitewashes Changmin’s doubts in a heartbeat, and he finds himself smiling genuinely back at the older man.  
  
“Fucking right we are.”  
  
Yunho grins, leaning forward over the iPod again, switching the track. “Okay, now this one, I fucking love this song...”  
  
They end up falling asleep that way, a shared headphone in each of their ears, Yunho with one arm hanging off the bed, Changmin with his face half-buried in a pillow. And when Changmin wakes the next morning, wiping saliva from the corner of his mouth and listening to Yunho snoring softly beside him, it strikes him just how natural this feels.  
  
*  
  
The best thing about playing in college towns, Changmin decides, balancing unsteadily on a stool as he’s handed another shot, besides getting free drinks, is that shows were always packed. There’d been nearly two hundred people crammed into the bar’s basement, all half-drunk and shouting along with songs they’d never heard.  
  
It was a total rush, being in front of a crowd like that—even if the ‘stage’ was a rickety thing made of plywood and stacked a foot off the ground, even if Kyuhyun’s mic had gone out twice during their three song set. It didn’t matter. Playing for a crowd, making two hundred bucks, getting free shots…it was about as close to perfect as life could get right about now.  
  
Knocking back the shot of tequila, he pushes himself off the stool, sway unsteadily before looking around for his bandmates, the bar still full even as it was going on three am.  
  
Heechul almost gives him a heart attack when he appears out of nowhere, clapping him forcefully on the back.  
  
“See that girl over there?” he all but shouts, blatantly pointing to a tomboy-ish chick in combat boots and a loose tie. Changmin’s pretty sure she’d been the drummer for the first group that had gone up, the one with the purple-haired lead singer.  
  
“What about her?” he asks, disdain a hard thing to get across when he has to yell to be heard over the music.  
  
Heechul grins lecherously at him. “I’m gonna fuck her.”  
  
Changmin groans, because how did he not see _that_ coming, trying to shrug his hyung off. He really didn’t need to know any more about Heechul’s sex life than he already did. He had enough mental pictures to scar him through the next four life cycles. “For fuck’s sake, is she even legal?”  
  
The older man has the audacity to look offended. “Yah, I’m not a cradle robber. And from what I’ve seen, she’s on her second soju bomb, so I’m thinking she’s good to go.”  
  
Another wince, Changmin pulling away from him and stumbling slightly to the side. “Not listening to you anymore. Don’t need the nightmares.”  
  
Heechul rolls his eyes, flicking at him with his fingers. “Fine, fine. Buzzkill. You’re a terrible wingman anyway.”  
  
Changmin attempts an eyeroll of his own, even as it only serves to make him dizzier, swaying a little on his feet. “Whatever. Listen, I’m heading back to the van, so find another love shack, okay?”  
  
Rolling his eyes, the redhead passes him the spare keys and Changmin heads out, walking unsteadily through the crowd to the firedoors in the back of the club. He dimly remembers they’d parked behind the place. Fuck, he shouldn’t have had that last shot. He needs to lay down and not move again for like…a week and a half.  
  
The chill of the night air sobers him up a little, clear and crisp as he inhales slowly. Drunkenly, Changmin wonders if it’s cold enough to snow, tilting his head up to look at the pitch dark sky, the stars washed out by the lights in the parking lot. The view doesn’t do much for his balance, stumbling over his own feet, and he drags his attention back down to Earth.  
  
He’s just about to reach down in his pocket for the car keys Heechul’d had made for all of them when he hears noises coming from the van.  
  
Confused, Changmin twists to look back to the club, but there’s no way Heechul could’ve gotten that girl and got out here before him, is there?  
  
Frowning, he moves closer to the van, listening carefully.  
  
There comes a girlish giggle and a soft, breathy moan, and then—a voice that’s unmistakably Yunho’s.  
  
The keys slip out of Changmin’s numb fingers to hit the pavement.  
  
Backing away from the vehicle, he tries to swallow, his throat inexplicably tight and vision blurry, stumbling towards the dumpsters behind the building. Yunho was in there with a girl. Yunho was in there, in _their_ van, fucking around with some _slut_ he didn’t even _know_. Just thinking it feels like a punch to the gut and Changmin tries desperately to regain his suddenly lost composure.  
  
He doesn’t care. He doesn’t, Yunho can do whatever the fuck he wants, it’s not his problem. He can impregnate a thousand drunk hobags and get herpes and father five hundred wriggling, screaming babies. Changmin couldn’t give less of a shit. It’s just the lack of respect for community property, that’s all, the lack of respect for others, that’s just—  
  
Clutching the side of the dumpster, Changmin bends over and pukes right beside it.  
  
Once it turns into dry heaves, stomach giving out, he drags himself back. Walks along the edge of the wall until he can’t see for the tears, sliding down against the brick to sit heavily on the pavement. Kyuhyun finds him there, hours later, minutes later, his arms wrapped loosely around his legs and his forehead against his knees. He’s not even sure if he’s crying anymore, not after he could barely admit it to himself in the first place.  
  
“Hyung?”  
  
He feels, rather than sees the singer crouch beside him, silence for a moment before a hand lands on his shoulder and forces Changmin’s head to come up. Even as he wipes hastily at his cheeks, he sees Kyuhyun’s eyes widen.  
  
“I’m fine,” he gets out pre-emptively, but the roughness in his voice and the redness of his eyes calls him a liar.  
  
Kyuhyun shifts until he’s kneeling, smelling like the bar and the leather of his jacket, his normally smiling face creased with concern. “No, you’re not.  
Don’t even try that. What’s going on?”  
  
Biting hard into his lower lip, Changmin shakes his head, cradling it in his hands because fuck, he’s still drunk and emotional and he’s going to fall apart, he knows he is, if he talks about it.  
  
“Is it…” Kyunhyun’s voice is quiet, careful. “Hyung, is it…Yunho?”  
  
The simple words are enough to open the floodgates.  
  
“I _don’t_ like him,” Changmin chokes out, shutting his eyes tight against the tears that threaten once again. “I _don’t_ , I shouldn’t even care…but then…but then he goes and fucks some _slut_ in _our_ van and all I can think about it how I want to tear her hair out and it’s so fucking stupid. I just…I just…”  
  
He hears a soft sigh beside him, feels Kyuhyun shift until they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder, an arm circling his shoulders and tugging him in close.  
  
“You just have a thing for him,” Kyuhyun murmurs, the words so simple and matter of fact it makes Changmin’s stomach twist.  
  
“Yeah,” he chokes out, wiping at his face with the edge of his jacket sleeve, letting his head thump back against the brick.  
  
“I guess I do.”  
  
Kyuhyun squeezes him, tight and reassuring, and Changmin lets himself sink into his best friend’s side, taking the comfort offered and resting his head on a bony shoulder. He swallows around the lump in his throat.  
  
“You’re not freaked out?”  
  
The other man’s scoff stirs his hair. “I know you like men, Changmin. And shit, as long as it’s not Heechul…”  
  
Changmin laughs wetly, pressing his hands over his face as it threatens to turn into another sob, and Kyuhyun just holds him tighter.  
  
*  
  
He spends the night on the couch of some people Kyuhyun had met after the show, their apartment only a block from the club and his best friend feeling too protective to let him out of his sight. As much as he hates feeling like a pity case, Changmin’s grateful—there’s no way he could’ve slept in the van after that, when there was every chance Yunho had kept the girl there for round two in the morning.  
  
There’s thankfully no sight of the older man when they return the next morning, the back doors of the van open and Heechul sitting on the bumper, smoking lazily as he sifts through their box of merchandise. Despite his misery, Changmin is curious to see how they made out last night, and climbs up beside him. Kyuhyun darts a gaze at him, digging through the front seat compartments for his shades, but Changmin ignores him. He doesn’t need a babysitter. He just needs to pretend like everything’s normal. Maybe then this sick feeling will just disappear with the rest of his hangover.  
  
“How’d we make out?”  
  
“Enough to get us gas to the next venue and then some,” Heechul tells him, thumbing through a rumpled bundle of cash before wrapping a rubber band back around it and sticking it in his guitar case. “Sold twenty CDs.”  
  
His voice is nonchalant but when he looks up, he’s grinning, and Changmin matches the expression with more ease than he would’ve thought.  
  
“Wait, really?” Kyuhyun calls from where he’s draped over the front seat, eyes wide. “We seriously made a hundred thousand won last night?”  
  
Heechul pats his guitar case. “You bet your sweet ass we did. Plus the seventy five thousand we got from the cover charge.” His voice turns wistful.  
  
“I’ve been eying this pair of plaid pants…”  
  
Changmin kicks him lightly. “The money still goes four ways, hyung. We should save it, maybe spring for some better take-out tonight. That drive-thru stuff is screwing with Yunho’s—“ He cuts himself off.  
  
The sound of the other man’s name is too loud to his ears, too natural in his mouth. Changmin bites down on his tongue so hard he’s surprised he doesn’t taste blood.  
  
If Heechul caught the reaction, he doesn’t let on, peering around the edge of the open door. “Speaking of that bastard, either of you see him? Said he was going out for coffees…” A snort. “Real chipper, too. I think he got laid last night.”  
  
Changmin pastes a smile on his face even though he feels like he’s been kicked in the chest.  
  
“N-no. Kyunhyun-ah and I just got back, hyung.”  
  
Heechul looks at him for a second, blinking slightly. “Oh. Right. Whatever, be a good boy and help me get all this shit organized and loaded up. We need to take off as soon as he gets back.”  
  
“I’m not a fucking roadie,” Changmin bites out, suddenly agitated, standing and brushing off the back of his pants. “I’m not even the youngest. Get Kyuhyun to help you.”  
  
Before Heechul can retort, Changmin grabs his coat and takes off, already digging in his pockets for his cigarettes. Esse’s. Yunho’s brand.  
  
“Son of a bitch—“ he chokes out at the edge of the parking lot, sinking down in resignation to sit on a parking stop, forcing himself to take a deep breath. It wasn’t Yunho’s brand, it was just a fucking _brand_ , and he needed to get a _grip_ before they started out and he found himself stuck in a confined space with the guy.  
  
Grinding his teeth, Changmin pulls out a cigarette and flicks the lighter, the flame catching the tip and flaring. He inhales deeply, nearly too deep, coughing slightly as he exhales.  
  
“Little early in the day for you, isn’t it, Min-ah?”  
  
Startled, Changmin swears, nearly dropping the cigarette as he lurches to his feet. Anything else dies in his throat as he sees Yunho’s curious expression and slight smile, a paper bag balanced on top a tray of coffees.  
  
“Changmin?” He can almost hear the concern flare when he doesn’t meet Yunho’s eyes or respond to the tease, and swearing in his head,  
  
Changmin tries to get a hold of himself. _Just say something, you moron._  
  
“Nothing. I’m fine. Just…just hungover, thought it might help.” He flicks it to the ground, stepping on the flaming butt, ignoring the waste. “Probably shouldn’t, Kyuhyun will bitch. He hates the smell,” he explains needlessly, as if Yunho hasn’t know Kyuhyunnie for years now.  
  
Yunho laughs, moving closer to fall into step with him as they turn back towards the van and Changmin resists the urge to walk faster. “I think that’s the least of the smells we should be getting worried about. We’re all past due for a shower. Should probably stop at a sauna or something tonight…”  
  
Again, Changmin is silent, staring at the ground, even as he can feel Yunho’s eyes boring into the side of his head.  
  
There’s a slight cough, then, “I was going to take the first driving shift, you want to call shotgun?”  
  
Something surges and twists in his chest, and Changmin can’t do this right now, fuck. “No. I mean. No, let Kyuhyun take it, it’s fine.”  
  
He starts walking faster then, shrugging his leather jacket around his shoulders and missing the look on Yunho’s face as he leaves him behind.  
  
*  
  
“Why are you avoiding me?”  
  
Changmin nearly snaps the D string with a viscious twist of the peg, jerking in surprise as he looks up at his bandmate. He swallows thickly. “What?”  
  
The older man pulls himself up into the back of the van and shuts the door behind him, sinking into a crouch with his back against the side. His features are serious and his mouth is tight with the hurt and confusion he’s radiating. Yunho has always been kind of an open book. Changmin bites the edge of his tongue and stares down at the neck of his bass, fingers wandering on the frets.  
  
“I’m…I’m not avoiding you, hyung, I just didn’t feel like drinking tonight.”  
  
He can feel Yunho’s eyes on him, the quiet study make his heartrate spike and his stomach turn. Changmin plucks another string, watches the arm on the tuner flicker.  
  
“I’m not just talking about tonight, Min-ah,” Yunho continues, shifting to sit, knees drawn up and arms resting on them. It makes the sleeves of his t-shirt pull tight at his biceps and Changmin hates-- _hates_ \--that he can’t help but notice this shit anymore.  
  
“It’s been a week and you haven’t even…you won’t sit by me in the van, you won’t smoke with me, you don’t even _talk_ to me unless it’s a yes or no, or checking the set list.” The drummer inhales sharply. “I’m not stupid, I know you’re mad at me. I just don’t know why.”  
  
Changmin bites down harder.  
  
Yunho’s right, he isn’t stupid. He may be kind of klutzy, and a little gullible, and lose fucking _everything_ , but he’s sharp as a tack where it counts. It’s why Changmin had always been so, so careful to keep things natural, platonic, innocent. It’s why he kind of hates himself right now for not being able to keep up another ruse.  
  
“Changmin-ah.” Yunho moves again, this time scooting across the floor until he’s sitting beside Changmin, reaching to still his fingers on the frets.  
  
“If I did something, I’m sorry, I don’t even know what it is. I just. Tell me, and I’ll fix it, okay?”  
  
The words are soft and full of poorly concealed hurt, and there’s so much genuine worry in them it tears at Changmin’s stomach. He looks up because he can’t not, and the way Yunho is looking at him has his throat closing all over again.  
  
“It’s not you,” he lies, clutching his guitar like a shield, trying to ignore the warmth of Yunho’s hand on top of his. “I’m just…out of sorts lately. And I’m being a dick. I’m….I’m sorry, hyung.”  
  
The other man knocks their shoulders together easily. “You don’t have to apologize. We all have our moments, especially living on top each other all the time, stuck in a shitty van without heat half the day...”  
  
“No,” Changmin interrupts, scrubbing a hand over his face in frustration. “It’s...it’s not that, hyung, I love being out here with you guys, it’s just...it’s just my own shit.”  
  
Yunho is quiet for a moment, even as his fingers drum lightly on his knees. Unable to ever stay still. Even now, Changmin can’t help the swell of affection he feels at the sight.  
  
“Any time you need an ear...” the older man gives him a slightly embarrassed smile, scratching at the inside of his arm. “I mean, I’m not just your bandmate, I’m...I’m your friend, you know?”  
  
“I know,” Changmin murmurs, meeting the drummer’s eyes. Wanting nothing more in that moment than to lean in and kiss him, fuck the consequences. God, he’s so screwed. “Thanks, hyung.”  
  
Yunho squeezes his knee. “Good. I’ll leave you alone, then, Heechul’s already sent me like five texts to get my ass back there.”  
  
Laughing at that, Changmin nods and pushes at his shoulder. “Go.”  
  
Yunho grins at him, pushing himself up and opening the door to climb out, shutting it behind him. Changmin lets out an unsteady breath before starting to mess with the tuning pegs once again, undoing his own damage.  
  
He had no idea it was possible for his heart to feel this heavy and this full all at once.  
  
*  
  
“Hey, you’re the bassist from _Don’t Panic!_ , right?”  
  
Changmin looks up from his beer and the profanities he’s carving into the bar with his thumbnail, blinking until he registers the guy standing beside him. “Uh yeah…”  
  
The other man leans in with his elbows on the bar, a leather choker around his neck, dark shaggy hair falling into his eyes. He smiles easily, teeth  
white and eyes dark as they rake over Changmin. “I heard you guys play earlier—you’re pretty good.”  
  
Changmin gives him a tight smile. “Thanks. We’re selling CDs up front…” He gestures with the neck of the bottle, going to take another sip only to realize it’s empty. Shit.  
  
“Here, let me get you another one,” the man offers, raising two fingers to the bartender and continuing as if he hadn’t noticed Changmin’s attempted dismissal. “Is your song on there?”  
  
 _That_ gets his attention. “What?”  
  
Hooded eyes slide back his way, that toothpaste commercial smile back, and Changmin finds his eyes falling to the other man’s mouth and the silver ring that glints against his bottom lip. “The song you sang tonight, how’s it….’standing by my side, yeah…’” He gestures abstractly. “I mean, obviously the skinny kid’s your lead vocal, but I like your voice better.”  
  
The heat that itches at the tips of his ears is unexpected, Changmin rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. For all he bragged to Heechul and teased Kyuhyun, he didn’t catch nearly as much of the attention and interest that was usually rained on their guitarist and lead singer. Bassists were made for the background, muted and grounded under the melody.  
  
“Uh, thanks.” Changmin watches as the kid passes over the cash and orders another of what Changmin’s having, plus a shot of whisky. “It’s called Wild Soul. The song. And yeah, it’s…it’s on the CD.”  
  
The other man nods, shifting to lean against the bar counter, knocking back the shot easily. “Maybe I’ll pick it up then.” Another grin, wide and bright with perfect teeth and Changmin feels his stomach sink a little as he realizes who it reminds him of.  
  
“I’m Kibum, by the way.” He quirks an eyebrow when there’s no response. “This is where you tell me your name.”  
  
He shakes his head, trying to get thoughts of _him_ out of his mind, and sighs. “Changmin. Look, thanks for the beer, man, but I—“  
  
The words die in his throat when Kibum’s hand lands on his thigh.  
  
Changmin stares at the other man, mouth suddenly a dry as Kibum meets his eyes for a fleeting moment before looking back out to the crowd. He doesn’t move his hand.  
  
“This group kind of sucks,” Kibum muses, and there’s another darting glance that Changmin just manages to catch, his blood thumping loud in his ears. “You know…I have some CDs in my car—Joy Division, the Buzzcocks, even some Sanulrim…” He shrugs, and then meets Changmin’s gaze full-on, offering a small smile. “Could always take our drinks out back and listen to a few.”  
  
Maybe it’s the beer, maybe it’s the smile. Maybe it’s the fact that over Kibum’s shoulder, he can see Yunho smiling at some groupie skank, handing her a beer. Whatever the reason, Changmin finds himself nodding and taking one last swig of his Hite.  
  
“Yeah. Okay. Lead the way.”  
  
*  
  
They don’t waste time.  
  
No sooner is the door shut and locked behind them, then Kibum’s crawling into his lap and trying to undo the front of Changmin’s jeans. And fuck, it’s been way too long since he’s been laid and he’s already hard.  
  
Kibum’s mouth crashes onto his, tasting like cigarette smoke and whiskey, and Changmin swallows down on the guilt that’s bubbling up in his chest. Why shouldn’t he have this? What does he owe Yunho? He’s just supposed to pine over him like a lovesick idiot, without hope? No, that’s fucking stupid.  
  
Sliding his fingers into thick, dark hair stiff with product, Changmin holds the other man in place, kissing him harshly in return and groaning into his mouth when Kibum cups him through his boxers.  
  
“Shit,” Changmin breathes, meeting the other man’s eyes.  
  
Kibum grins wickedly at him, squeezing meaningfully as he shifts to bite and suck at Changmin’s earlobe. Groaning, Changmin drops his hands to the kid’s ass, groping him unashamedly as his fingers slide over rough denim.  
  
“Let me fuck you?” he gets out, the words blunt and to the point, but there’s no pretending this is going anywhere else. Especially when Kibum shudders under his touch and nods frantically.  
  
“Fuck, yeah, just lemme get—“ he moves from Changmin’s lap, turning to worm his way between the front seats and reach for the glove compartment.  
  
The view of his ass that it gets Changmin is fantastic, and he doesn’t wait passively, reaching around to undo Kibum’s belt and jeans and pulling both them and his underwear down off slim hips. Kibum gasps when Changmin mouths wetly at the small of his back.  
  
“Got it,” he hisses, and Changmin pulls him back roughly to sit on the narrow seat, doing his damnedest to pull tight jeans the rest of the way off.  
  
He hears a thunk as one of Kibum’s sneakers is pulled off as well, and figures one leg of the pants is good enough, shifting to lean over him with one hand bracing him on the car door. Kibum surges up to kiss him wet and dirty, popping the cap on the lube and spilling it half on the seat, half in his hand.  
  
“Do you want me to—“ Changmin starts, but Kibum shakes his head, pressing a foil packet into Changmin’s hand.  
  
He takes the hint, sitting back to push his pants the rest of the way down, t-shirt sticking to his back, and ripping the condom wrapper open with unsteady hands. KIbum is pushing two fingers inside himself with a muffled swear, his eyes dark and lined with kohl and god, Changmin _needs_ this.  
  
“Kibum—“  
  
“I’m almost, just give me a second—“ the other man breathes, and Changmin doesn’t have to patience to sit tight and listen, moving closer and reaching to take ahold of the punk’s erection, heavy and thick in his hand. He bites at the inside of Kibum’s knees, can almost feel tension bleed from him at the coveted touch.  
  
It doesn’t take much longer.  
  
The confines of the car make things all but impossible, Changmin’s hair sticking to his forehead as he presses inside of him, the seatbelt lock wedged against his elbow as he tries to hold his own weight. There’s no space for his legs, and Kibum is clutching so hard at his upper arm, he’s going to leave a fucking hand print. But it’s good. God is it good, feeling his cock swallowed by the other man’s tight body, burying all of the confusion of the past week, the past _months_ , in a tight fuck up against the door of a battered sedan. Kibum kisses him harshly until he can’t keep his breath anymore, panting as Changmin fucks into him over and over, fingers splayed against the seat and another man’s name swallowed in his throat.  
  
*  
  
When it’s over they sit side by side, Changmin’s pants pulled back up but not fastened, Kibum only bothering with his boxers. The younger man rests his head on Changmin’s shoulder as he plays around with the lid of his Zippo, Changmin smoking and looking out the window.  
  
“So what, do you have a boyfriend or something? Girlfriend?” Kibum asks, lifting his head to snag the cigarette and take a drag. His eyeliner is smudged and his hair a mess, but it does nothing to hide the perceptiveness in his gaze.  
  
Changmin takes it back, inhaling deeply before letting out a stream of smoke and handing it over again. “You can finish it,” he mutters, something lot like guilt starting to eat at his stomach. He only smokes with Yunho, he shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be here at all. “There’s nobody.”  
  
Kibum snorts. “Then why do you look like your tail’s between your legs? It wasn’t that bad.”  
  
He sighs, running a hand back through sweaty hair. “It wasn’t bad at all.”  
  
Just not the right person. And it never will be.  
  
Kibum pushes a hand in the pocket of Changmin’s jeans, fishing his cell phone out and opening it. Changmin fights a spike of annoyance. “What are you doing?”  
  
“Putting my number in your phone. Just in case you ever feel like it being not bad again,” Kibum snaps it shut with a flourish, stuffing it back in  
  
Changmin’s pocket and smiling at him. And it’s the smile, if anything, that relaxes him.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, you can be our official groupie,” Changmin deadpans and Kibum laughs before leaning in to kiss him, hard and dirty and goodbye.  
  
*  
  
“Have fun?”  
  
Changmin all but jumps out of his skin, heart racing as he twists to see the shadowed figure leaning against the van, arms crossed over his chest. Yunho’s profile is clear enough in the yellow glow of the parking lot lights, but it’s the harshness of his tone that makes Changmin do a double take. He’s never heard this kind of coldness in the other man’s voice, not even when he’d broken a fight up between Kyuhyun and some drunk punker at a show.  
  
“Hyung?” Changmin takes a hesitant step closer, watching the tip of the cigarette between Yunho’s fingers flare as he taps off the ash. “What are you doing out here, I thought you were…” He can’t finish the sentence, the words stuck in his throat. Chatting up some random slut, buying her beers to get into her pants, letting her coo over just how cool and talented you were.  
  
Just the thought sends a familiar burst of hurt and anger through him.  
  
Yunho’s hand twitches in obvious agitation as he takes a long drag off his cigarette before throwing it to the concrete and stamping it out, pushing off the van to stand straight. The anger on his face makes Changmin take a half-step back.  
  
“Don’t try to change the subject,” Yunho retorts. “We’re talking about what _you_ were doing, Changmin-ah. So tell me, did you have fun? Was it good?”  
  
Changmin feels his stomach sink to his shoes. “I don’t know what—“  
  
“Fucking that _guy_ in the backseat of his car. Remember now? Or I’m sorry, was he fucking you? Did you spread your legs for him?”  
  
The words are furious and poisonous, Yunho’s accent bleeding into the syllables, something that only happens when he’s well and truly pissed. It cuts Changmin like an open wound across the chest—he’s never been on the other end of anger like this, not from Yunho, not over something like _this_.  
  
He’s never had to feel his heart break into even tinier pieces when the small amount of hope he’d had snuffs out. Yunho saw him with a man, and he hates him for it.  
  
“Shut up,” Changmin gets out, his own temper spiking even as he’s trying to hold back tears of disappointment and betrayal. How can Yunho act like this? “It’s none of your business what I do with _anyone_ , you’re not my father—“  
  
“I thought I was your friend!” Yunho shouts, smacking a hand against the sliding door, the impact as loud as his shouts in the deserted lot. “I thought I _knew_ you! That you weren’t the kind of person who just fucks around with some _stranger_ \--“  
  
“Not like you, huh?” Changmin chokes out, all of the hurts of the past weeks coming to a head under the brunt of Yunho’s words. “You sleep with any groupie in a short skirt, and then you have the arrogance to come and lecture _me_ \--“  
  
Yunho grabs him by the front of his shirt, pushing him into the van, Changmin’s head knocking against the metal hard enough to make his ears ring. In the glare of the lights, Changmin can see how his eyes shine, how the muscle in his jaw twitches.  
  
“Don’t you ever compare what you just did to what—“ Yunho cuts himself off, driving his fist into the side of the van beside Changmin’s head, leaving him shaking.  
  
“Do me a favor and just stay the hell away from me,” the other man hisses, but the coldness is gone, something jagged and painful taking it’s place, and Changmin can only stare in stunned silence as he lets go of him and turns away.  
  
“Y-yunho hyung…”  
  
He suddenly feels like he’s missing something huge, something important, even as he stands there with tears itching on his cheeks and his throat hoarse from yelling.  
  
But Yunho doesn’t wait for him to explain, cradling his right hand as he strides across the lot, yanking open the door to the bar and disappearing inside.  
  
It’s a long time before Changmin can move from where he stands.  
  
*  
  
It’s not that he’d pictured things ending up in a happily ever after.  
  
Changmin is well aware that most people don’t even find a happily _next week_ after, and that most of the time, unrequited love stays just that. Unrequited. There no sudden reveals, no swelling musical score, no twists of fate. Just crushing and then being crushed.  
  
He’d never had any illusions of gaining Yunho as a boyfriend.  
  
But he’d never, not even once, thought that he might lose him as a friend.  
  
*  
  
Their set the next night is a disaster.  
  
Changmin misses more than half of his notes, too busy darting glances over his shoulder at Yunho, the energy is flat, and his voice cracks in the middle of his one freaking song, tripping through the rest of the words half-heartedly. If he could bring himself to care at all, he’d be surprised they weren’t booed off-stage. Luckily the audience is heavily punk, overwhelmingly indie, and no one expects them to be able to play their instruments anyway.  
  
Yunho doesn’t stick around after.  
  
All and all, it’s an excuse to get well and truly shit-faced, and he heads to the bar with just that intention. Orders a row of vodka shots and downs the first two in rapid succession, wincing against the burn. He’s reaching for the third when Heechul slides into the stool next to him, an eyebrow arched.  
  
“I know you can stand to lose an exceptional amount of braincells, Shim, but five shots in a row still might be pushing it.”  
  
Changmin swallows hard. “Leave me alone, Heechul.”  
  
The older man snorts, holding a bill out to the bartender and ordering himself a soju and lime. “That’s Heechul- _hyung_ , to you, and sorry, Changdol, it’s not in the cards.”  
  
Hissing between his teeth, Changmin knocks the third back hard. “Fuck off.”  
  
Heechul merely turns in his seat, leaning back against the bar with his elbows resting on top. “God, you’re sweet. But here’s the deal--with the two of you being fucktards and Kyu too freaked out to stick his nose in lest it be bitten off...it falls to me to fix this before your stupidity rips the band apart and I have to start trolling music stores for a new bassist.”  
  
Changmin stares at him blankly, fingers tight on the next glass, the alcohol starting to hit him. “You’re...you’re going to replace me?”  
  
Heechul reaches over and plucks the shot from his hands, downing it in one go. “If I have to. I’m sure as hell not going to just sit here and deal with all of this crazy tension and avoidance. It’s bad for the complexion.”  
  
He leans in, plunking the glass down.  
  
“So. Start talking.”  
  
Changmin stares down at the last shot, tracing the rim of the glass with his fingertip.  
  
“He hates me.”  
  
“He doesn’t hate you.” The response is immediate and trite and empty. Changmin’s features threaten to crumple.  
  
“No. You don’t understand. He _hates_ me.” Changmin takes a shaking breath. “There was this...there was this guy, and he saw me, and he just...” He shakes his head. “He told me to stay the hell away from him.”  
  
Heechul sighs noisily, standing from the stool and tugging at Changmin’s arm. “Come outside and have a cigarette with me.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Aish, you’re a pain in the....” Another sigh, Heechul’s voice softening a fraction. “Come on, Min-ah. You need some fresh air and I need to give you a bit of a reality check, okay? I don’t want anything getting lost in that impossibly big brain of yours, got it?”  
  
Changmin reluctantly, unsteadily, stands, letting Heechul usher him out towards the back of the bar, hands keeping him walking and walking straight.  
  
They make it out to the cramped lot, Heechul guiding him to lean against the brick wall as he digs cigarettes and a lighter out of Changmin’s jacket.  
  
Changmin spares a less-than-sober thought to the fact that he’s had way too many soul-baring encounters behind bars lately. Nevertheless, he takes the cigarette the guitarist hands him, lighting it and taking a single drag before holding it limply at his side.  
  
Another click of the lighter, and a flare of embers between Heechul’s cupped hands, and then the other man is looking at him like he’s a bug under glass. Fascinating, and entirely pitiful.  
  
“So. Spell it out again for me. What happened.”  
  
Changmin lets his head thunk back against the brick, closing his eyes. Really, really not wanting to talk about this. Not when his head feels heavy and his skin hot and the mess of beer, vodka and cheap take out is rolling in his stomach.  
  
“He caught me with a guy. _With_ a guy, just...just someone I met at the gig. And he...” Here his voice wavers. “He was pretty fucking clear about how disgusting he found it”  
  
Heechul scoffs. “I didn’t ask for your color commentary, Shim, I asked what happened. What did Yunho _say_ , and leave the imaginative phrasing to your lyrics, got it?”  
  
“He said he thought he knew me, okay?” Changmin snaps, incensed. Resenting that Heechul was making him relive this, that he was making light of it. “That we were friends, and that I wasn’t the kind of person who just slept around with guys. I...I told him it was no different that what he did, fucking around with all those whores at the gigs, and he--he pushed me into the side of the van.”  
  
Raising the cigarette to his mouth, suddenly craving the calm of the nicotine, Changmin takes an unsteady inhale. “His eyes, he just...I hurt him, hyung. I never wanted to hurt him.”  
  
There’s a stretch of quiet, long and uncomfortable, and Changmin thinks almost spitefully that he’s disproved all of Heechul’s worthless platitudes. No exaggeration, no speculation, and it still spells out the exact same thing. Yunho can’t stand him, he’s ruined their friendship, and this is all--  
  
Changmin yelps in pain, caught off-guard when Heechul suddenly and deliberately flicks him in the middle of the forehead.  
  
“Fuck, what was that for?”  
  
Heechul glares at him, the expression well and truly unimpressed. “I’m officially never calling you smart again, you absolute idiot.”  
  
Changmin gapes at him, alcohol making his reaction slow and stupid. “What? Why?”  
  
“Because you can’t see what’s right in front of your face,” Heechul retorts, flicking ash from the end of his cigarette, gesturing wildly. “Have you _ever_ known Yunho to be some kind of close-minded bigot? Do you _really_ think he’d get upset to the point of shouting at you and storming off, just because you were with a guy?”  
  
“I...”  
  
Heechul flicks him again sharply, this time on the ear, and Changmin hisses, jerking away from him and grabbing at the wall to stay steady. “Stop it,  
what are are you--”  
  
“Think about it, dumbass. You’ve been a freaking depressing lump of PMS-ing sulk for how long now just because he shacked up with someone--tell me, exactly how different was his reaction from yours? For that matter, how different do you think the reasons were?”  
  
The words freeze him in place. “You...you mean...?”  
  
The guitarist shakes his head, smacking him gently on the cheek. “I’m not spelling it out for you any clearer than that. Sober the fuck up, and tomorrow, I expect this to end in sunshine and fucking rainbow-barfing kittens, or Kyu and I are going solo.” With that, and an infuriatingly satisfied smirk, Heechul toes his cigarette out and pulls the door open to head back inside.  
  
Changmin stares after him, his mind spinning like tires in the mud, trying to catch up. Yunho was angry...for the same reason Changmin had been? He...he was jealous? Almost unbidden, the memory of the other night is in the forefront of his mind. The accusations Yunho had thrown, the way his eyes had shone with tears in the street-light’s glare. He’d been angry, but he’d been _hurt_ more than anything, just the way--  
  
Hissing as the fast burning cigarette singes his fingers, Changmin flicks off the ash and takes another deep drag before dropping it into a puddle of water. Sucking the knuckle of his middle finger into his mouth, he starts towards the parking lot, stumbling a little but uncaring. Only one thing on his mind. He has to talk to Yunho.  
  
*  
  
He finds him lying on a picnic table in the tiny park behind the bar and the laundromat, his breath clouding the air as he lays still, one leg crossed to rest on his knee, a sneakered foot on the bench. As beautiful as Changmin’s ever seen him, and rather than make his liquid courage waver, it strokes something a hundred times more real in his belly.  
  
Taking an unsteady step forward, Changmin snaps a twig under his foot and it gets dark eyes on him instantly. There’s a flash of _something_ on the other man’s face as he sits up slowly, his gaze darting back towards the bar. Something young and impossibly vulnerable, visible for only a fleeting moment before the guarded expression snaps back in place and with a sudden, dizzying clarity, Changmin knows. He _gets_ it.  
  
He takes another step forward. Yunho’s jaw tightens.  
  
“What are you doing out here, Changmin? Did Heechul send you? Cause I told him--”  
  
It’s amazing, Changmin thinks dizzily, in the end, after everything, how easy it is to just cross the space between them and swallow the rest of that sentence in a kiss.  
  
Yunho goes rigid underneath him, his skin cold where Changmin’s hand touches his jaw, his mouth warm and soft and bitter with the taste of leftover nicotine. It’s like plunging into a frozen lake, the shock of it, Changmin’s heart a sick, slow bass beat in his ears. Yunho gives him nothing, takes nothing, just allows until he doesn’t, hands strong and tight on Changmin’s shoulders as he pushes him back gently but firmly.  
  
There is nothing of that steady control in his expression.  
  
“You’re drunk.” The words fall heavy and bitter and solid between them, Yunho’s features twisting in something like pain.  
  
Changmin shakes his head quickly, almost frantically, not looking away from his face. “No--I mean, I am but. No. That’s not why. That’s not...I did it because I wanted to. Because I’ve been wanting to for so, so long.” He bites down on his tongue, trying to stop his mouth from continuing, but it doesn’t work.  
  
“Do you hate me? Still?”  
  
Yunho’s brow furrows incredulously, hands clutching tighter at Changmin’s upper arms. “What? What the--I don’t hate you, Changmin. Don’t say that, okay?”  
  
Changmin shakes his head again, even as it makes his stomach lurch, and this time, he can’t make himself meet Yunho’s gaze. “But you did. And...and I mean. I understand. I hated you, too, after...after that fucking girl...” He closes his eyes at the sound of a sucked in breath. “That’s why I...he didn’t mean anything to me, Yunho. I swear.”  
  
The hands on his arms tighten, then release, Yunho taking a step back and pushing them into his coat pockets, looking away. Changmin studies his profile from beneath his eyelashes, curling and uncurling his fingers. Holding his breath.  
  
“She...she didn’t either. She was just...a distraction.” Yunho turns back to him, his eyes serious and his jaw tight. “From...you.”  
  
Changmin exhales.  
  
He couldn’t say who moves first, him or Yunho, just that his hip is suddenly pressing into the side of the wooden table and they’re sharing the lingering tastes of vodka and cigarettes between them, Yunho’s hand tight in his hair.  
  
He makes a desperate noise into the kiss, fingers twisting in Yunho’s jacket, the worn leather soft as he digs his nails into it. Lifting one Converse-clad foot to the bench, he makes to push himself up onto the table and nearly loses his balance. He hears rather than feels Yunho hesitate, the other man holding tight to his waist to steady him.  
  
“Are you sure you’re...sober enough for--”  
  
“I am,” Changmin cuts him off, kissing him hard, not wanting to leave any doubt. “Hyung drank most of my shots anyway. Please, Yunho.”  
  
The drummer needs no more convincing, pushing Changmin to lay back against the table, crawling on top of him and leaning down to kiss him fervently. The warped wood is hard under Changmin’s back, the location too public and too fucking cold for this, but he’s drunk and euphoric enough to not give a shit.  
  
Changmin slides his freezing hands up under Yunho’s shirt, swallowing the other man’s soft hiss as they meet his bare skin. Reveling in the fact that he’s touching, that he’s allowed to touch like this, finally, and that Yunho wants it from him.  
  
“I’ve been so angry at you,” Yunho hisses softly, punctuating the words with a bite to Changmin’s lower lip, tearing a gasp from him. “So fucking pissed.”  
  
He rests his weight almost bodily on Changmin, mouthing the line of his jaw, both of them grunting softly as their groins come into sudden, blissful contact. Changmin pushes up with his hips, desperate, alcohol and months of _longing_ throwing any remain inhibition to the wind. He wants Yunho, and he wants Yunho to _know_ it.  
  
“Me too,” Changmin breathes, closing his eyes, a jolt of electricity going through him as they rut against each other. “Bastard, I could’ve punched you in the face for having to overhear you--” The words cut off as Yunho finds his mouth again, their kiss hard and almost bruising in intensity.  
  
It breaks, the two of them breathless, Yunho meeting his eyes with so much _feeling_ it all but paralyzes Changmin.  
  
“It was worse,” Yunho gets out unsteadily, tugging at Changmin’s hair, kissing him again. “Worse than knowing you’d never want a man. Thinking that you did, that man just wasn’t me.”  
  
Changmin swallows hard, hooking a long leg over Yunho’s keeping him in place, a hand at the small of his back.  
  
“And Heechul says I’m the idiot,” he spits without malice, something tight and hot threatening to choke him. “It’s always been you. Since I met you, it’s been you.”  
  
The kiss that follows that nearly steals every breath in him, and Changmin surrenders them willingly, clutching at the other man as Yunho kisses him, moves against them, both of them too keyed up to do anything but rut against one another. They share cold touches and hot kisses, needing too much for anything gentle, anything slow. Not now. Later, he’ll let Yunho make love to him in an actual bed, in _his_ bed; later, they’ll linger over every sensitive spot, find every place that makes the other cry out. There’s time, so much time now, nothing but it really, and when Changmin finds his release moments later, there’s wetness on his cheeks.  
  
Yunho chokes softly beside his ear, straining against Changmin’s replete form, once, twice more, before he’s undone every bit as easily, fingerprints embedded in Changmin’s arm.  
  
Dazed, Changmin opens his eyes, breath catching at the swirl of white flakes against the blackened sky.  
  
“It’s snowing...” he murmurs, tightening his arms around the other man.  
  
Yunho brushes his lips gently against Changmin’s jaw, the kiss soft and affectionate, and finally, the knot he’s been carrying inside of him for months now...it releases. Changmin exhales, eyes closing once more.  
  
“Can’t believe you aren’t wearing a coat, you have to be freezing,” Yunho murmurs, winding cold fingers through his own, his weight crushing  
  
Changmin to the table, but neither of them seems to really care.  
  
“You’re warm,” Changmin refutes quietly, their faces so close, ears coloring from the cold, from the shyness he all the sudden feels now that his head is clearer.  
  
“You know.” A smile spreads over his features. “Hyung always did say you had a soft spot for me.”  
  
Yunho snorts softly, stirring Changmin’s hair. “Heechul knows too much for his own good. I suspect witchcraft.”  
  
The grin widens, Changmin turns his head slightly, snowflakes caught in his lashes. He kisses Yunho, because he wants to. Because he can.  
  
“Without a doubt.”  
  
*  
  
When he sees them later that night, their hair dusted with snow, Changmin wearing Yunho’s leather jacket and matching smiles on both of their faces, Heechul shouts something loud and half-slurred that sounds like ‘finally, you dumbfucks’ and demands they buy him drinks in gratitude. Kyuhyun points out, his mouth obnoxiously close to Changmin’s ear, that he has the hickey the size of a golfball on his neck before dissolving into snickers. It gets a sheepish smile out of Yunho that doesn’t at all hide the wicked gleam in his eyes, and face red, Changmin flips up the collar on his coat and all but shoves Kyuhyun off his barstool.  
  
It’s like nothing’s really changed, he muses, looking out over the crowd. The same music, the same crappy venue, the same impossibly boring drive waiting for them in the morning. Heechul’s going to spend the night with his head in a toilet and Kyuhyun’s going to drunk-dial his girlfriend at some point to sing love songs to her voicemail, and each of them will probably take their coffee black as sin tomorrow.  
  
Yunho slips an arm around his waist casually, mid-conversation with Kyuhyun as the younger man gesticulates grandly and nearly spills his beer all over the floor.  
  
Coughing a little, Changmin leans into the hold, hoping against hope that he isn’t grinning like an idiot. Heechul’s smirk tells him otherwise.  
  
Well. It’s _almost_ like nothing’s changed. But Changmin isn’t complaining. Not at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is of course from the Ataris album of the same name.


End file.
